Heretic of the Hegemony
by V-rcingetorix
Summary: The subtleties of those living within the Hegemony are lost on outsiders. Existence is harsh for all, a fact seldom recognized by the self-righteous preachers of equality. What must be done, is done. This is the story of Jal'resh Ba'Kal, Head of House Ba'Kal, master of his holdings. None will take them, not while he holds command.
1. Home Advantage

The Four Pillars were the foundation of the Hegemony, even to those demented few that opposed any form of organized religion. Mannerisms, holy days, customs dating back to the third _Imperija_ ; all of it related to the Pillars. Ignoring them, while fashionable, simply exhibited foolishness that could have otherwise remained hidden.

But such fools revealed themselves to the world more easily than a drunken _hacha-hacha_ dancer. Such was life.

Jal'resh paced across the stone blocks comprising the upper patio of his family home, pondering the depths of theology. Like the symbol on his breast, there were Four Pillars, one for each of the cardinal directions: North, South, East and West. Like a compass from the ancient days, a myriad of degrees existed between each point, each important in their own fashion. But without the original four, they were useless. Like the rampant unbelief running through certain echelons of the Hegemony's political infrastructure, ignoring the strictures set down since time immemorial.

"Sire," a female slave, keen of eye and possessing the mandibles of her race, paused at a respectful distance. "The shuttle is near. Control estimates landing within five _zapisnik_."

Jal'resh paused his motions, lifting his lower set of eyes to the skies while the smaller pair watched the slave. Disorienting to some, but akin to what he'd heard about some asari capable of moving their cephalic tentacles. "We knew this day would come." The upper set rose, joining the focus of his lower, a breach of protocol in most House manners … but House Ba'Kal was unlike most. "You know what to do."

The slave sank to one knee, arm clasped to her left breast in supplication. "Sire, please, do not send me –"

He cut her off, growling in his throat. "Do not force me to make it an order."

She hesitated once, then bowed her face to the floor, rising in a fluid motion. "At once master."

Jal'resh heard her departure, but kept his gaze upward to the clouds, searching their swollen concealment for the doom he knew came. Then, he heard it, a humming sound inaudible to some of the other species in the galaxy, and even most of his own. The family bastion had been constructed for defense, in a location strategically determined to command the horizon. Part of that careful placement involved meticulous attention to the architecture in the Place of Observation, back in the times when the greatest threat were the creaking machines of war, constructs of metal and timber.

Of course, such deliberate works of architecture became positively intolerable during the Festival days, when shuttles buzzed past so frequently as to reverberate like the humming of _calek_ flies. Deafening, was a polite term.

If he allowed himself to say what it really sounded like, he would need to purify his vicinity.

A short walk lead him to the concealed exit – barely a hiding place after generations of use by Ba'Kal descendants. Observing tradition, however, bade him to run a cursory scan for observation devices, electronic and otherwise, before pressing the faded icon three finger-widths across and two down. The staircase, disguised as an ornate bit of railing, lowered for him.

Keeping the same pace gave a sense of normality, of utter calm. Within the stronghold, certain rules applied to all, even the Hedgemon himself, should times become so unfortunate as to require such a visit. The head of the family did not run, did not raise his voice inappropriately, and protected what was his with all the vicious cunning expected. The family line of Ba'Kal did not surrender to anyone, and had not done so for millennia. Only certain asari – and practically all krogan – could claim an equally proud heritage.

"Master, your robes." An asari slave bowed, extending both arms to him. Ornate garb rested on her outstretched limbs, heavy stuff, formal wear that only the rich would persuade themselves to appear attractive.

Sighing, Jal'resh removed his sportcoat, handing it to a second servant that appeared by his side as if by magic. The larger, heavier robes he donned with the same air as a funeral dirge. They were ancient, created in a previous generation, back when synthetic material was far more difficult to come by, and quality clothing spoke in a language none could hear. More so than now, at least. The aristocracy of the modern times sometimes seemed to be dazzled only by vapid faces and wallets hemorrhaging funds in arterial torrents.

"Are the laborers at work?" he asked, doing up a long series of fastenings on one side.

The asari, old enough to have known his great-grandfather, bowed her head respectfully. "Indeed sire. Fields are ripening, and the harvest looks to be good."

He knew that. Had he not kept a close eye on affairs as should befit the Head of House? But even the eagle eye of the most farseeing man could fail to see what was under his nostrils. "See to it they are given extra rations this night. A storm is approaching."

Her smile of approval lightened the room. "At once, master. Do you require aid?"

Snapping the last layer in place, Jal'resh started applying the last fastenings underneath. It was more of a light armor than mere clothing, but more flexible than the former, with all the benefits of the latter. "No, Clarissa. See to them. Then, retire for the evening. Your husband would not forgive me if I kept you from his side another day."

She curtsied, blushing as if a century younger. "Yes sire, thank you sire."

He finished the last of the vestments, and straightened the edges. A pair of blue-streaked blades appeared within his line of sight, handle first. Silently, he accepted their weight; element zero infused steel, granting far more versatility than drawbacks. They were heirlooms, weapons gifted to the first biotic specialist of his family line, given in turn to each successor that displayed the same gifts – an event that proved remarkably frequent after that. The matched bits of darkened steel glided into the obviously hidden regions, causing the cloth folded over his pectorals to bulge. His more _hidden_ weapons, the true protection, lay in both the unseen, and the things too obvious to be seen.

"Thank you," Jal'resh intoned to the armorer. The turian slave returned a silent bow, retreating as he paid homage.

"My lord, the honor guard is here." Another voice broke into the sanctum. His secondary head of security, an asari approached, ignoring the normal honorifics most slaves were compelled to follow. The true head of security doubtless remained at his post, watching. "As you specified, the _gjigantët_ will remain in the guest dining hall. However, the Lady insists that half of the vanguard be of the Fifth Tier."

Jal'resh smiled. The old women meant well, but even he was not quite so paranoid. "And volunteers just happened to be available?"

She smiled. "As a remarkable coincidence, you are correct."

"Very good." The soldiers lock-stepping into position made for a good image, no matter what power they wielded. Taking them would humor people whom needed it, and harmed nothing.

Moving onward, he flicked his head to the right, acknowledging the first guard. The guard responded with a mirrored movement to his own left, verifying the vast gulf separating them socially, if not physically. Indicating social status through body language felt archaic, but a member of the Ancient Houses could hardly complain about that, could he? One could not simply 'cherry pick' what was acceptable in everything, and keep only the good. The meaning, subtle nuances that originated the flaws, required more information than that.

At an unspoken signal, the group formed around him. The two heaviest individuals stayed at the back, placed to pull him out of harm's way, should it be needed. The two lightest became his flanking protection, preceded by the medium-grade forward guard. Fifth Tier biotics were a valuable commodity, making it a display of both wealth and power.

The two guardians at the doorway, purely decorative as a matter of course, stepped aside. The massive meter-thick slab of metal slid into the doorframe on perfectly balanced rollers. This was old technology, older than the weapons his visitor bore or the computers they would be carrying. Far more reliable, too.

"Remember," the secondary security chief whispered. "The mercenaries stand ready down the hall."

He gave her a single quelling look, driving her back to her place. Facing forward again, he nodded to the two door wards, whom allowed the door to finish its cycle.

Swiftly, he stepped out into the harsh sunlight, blinking in sequence, as his father had taught him. _Never close your eyes all at once, save when you rest_ , the words came back to him. _The day you stop seeing is the day you will pass on the family to your successor. Blink, and die._

Ahead, the shuttle still lowered itself to the landing pad. What had taken the pilot so long to descend was … confusing, but acceptable. The delay made him appear to be the superior – which would possibly render the pilot a punitive reward by its master. Not his problem.

The guards fanned to either side, the middle two raising their pikes in a welcoming gesture, the two larger men in back wielding rapid-fire light machine guns. The juxtaposition of weaponry, like everything else, bore careful calculation, as finely honed as the supposedly unarmed abilities of the two soldiers that anchored the edges of his position. _Every situation is a gift. Take advantage of it, or lose the game._

The shuttle finally landed, its weight making the ground shudder.

Flicking his outer pair of eyes to one side, Jal'resh verified the protective shielding status. If an explosion was the intended gift, none would suffer for negligence.

Fortunately, the door hissed open, permitting a brace of imposing soldiers to emerge, blinking in the daylight. They, like he, seemed aware of the dangers of blindness, blinking in pairs. Their armor shimmered a deep vermillion, the same shade as the lifeblood of a rested warrior. Weapons appeared ostentatious, and decorative, Batarian State Arms issue hardware with filigree curling around parts that did not serve any functional purpose. Except, perhaps, to intimidate.

A darker figure, dressed all in black showed itself within the depths of the shuttle. He emerged, showing a stocky figure, rapidly bypassing the sedentary appearance and beginning the initial stages of sheer corpulence. Suppressing unflattering thoughts, Jal'resh made the smallest of gestures, deactivating the force field.

At the motion of trust, the dark figure continued, a second pair of protectors joining his first duo, in identically crimson armor.

"As subtle as a boot to the face." Jal'resh noted quietly enough to avoid eavesdropping devices. His guards didn't react, they were too well-trained. "Blood red, to cover the sight of blood. Black contrasts with red, the Hegemony colors. Perhaps an attempt to stir my civic pride?"

The distance from the shuttle to the landing pad entrance stretched over fifty meters, the optimal distance for small arms fire. In more ancient times, a primitive series of traps would have been more appropriate, but set in the opposite direction. Flight had yet to be invented then.

"Lord Ba'Kal," the dark-clad figure stopped the prescribed distance, inclining both head and shoulders the minimal amount demanded by society. "I thank you for your hospitality."

Jal'resh raised his hand in the ancient blessing. _"Mirë se vini në zemrën time. Festës mirë dhe të pushoni lehtë."_ He paused, then repeated himself: "Welcome to my hearth. Feast well and rest easy."

His opposite twitched, obviously hiding a grimace. Using the ancient phrases grated on newer blood; it reminded them of bore reminders of how recent their ascension to a hsigher caste. "Again, my thanks. I trust you and yours fare well?"

"Indeed," he responded gravely. A half-turn invited examination of the diamond motif decorating his right sleeve. "May I offer you the hospitality of my table, _Pronar_ Alain?"

The dark-clad batarian glanced at the decorations, then back at him without reacting. "It would be a pleasure."

The bodyguards closed ranks once more, this time enveloping the newly arrived man and his own protectors. If one knew how to observe, he would see the military personnel begin their own little dance, pretending to ignore each other yet ensuring a clear line of fire for every step. Another small joy in the Great Game.

* * *

"The front hall," words echoed through the entrance, reverberating through the vast expanse like the voice of an ancient being, "shows the Four Pillars, the foundation of our society. They have stood here in my halls for many generations, reminding us."

Alain gave him a polite nod. "Indeed?"

"Indeed," Jal'resh responded. He pointed at a towering stone pillar, intricately carved out of black obsidian. "Here, near the entrance is the Fourth Pillar. Strength of Self: _for only through the power within may the other three draw breath_."

The other man nodded firmly. "The foundation of the _Finisk_ , the strength of the Hegemony."

Jal'resh gave a courteous nod, as the next decorated plinth loomed over them. "The Third Pillar, Strength of Kin: _through the aid of blood, you will gain strength. Blood to blood, kin to kin, honor those and you shall be honored_."

Alain hesitated. "The _Robst_ caste began there, to work in the strength of their bondage."

"Even so," he agreed again. Silently they passed onwards, reaching the next marker. "The Second Pillar. Strength of Heart: _Honor those within your walls, lest your heart become as black as those of the Dwellers of the Pit._ "

Alain made the habitual sign to repel evil, as did Jal'resh. Even the most strenuously atheistic of people felt the need to demonstrate their contempt for the Oath-Breakers. Their steps did not hasten, but the Second Pillar somehow receded behind them with more rapidity than the previous two.

"And the First Pillar: Strength of One." He stopped, tracing a diamond pattern from forehead to sternum and back. " _Have no other gods, for He is One. Be lifted up by the Four, and they shall give thee strength beyond kings_."

This time his companion stopped to examine the pillar. Unlike the dark appearance of the previous three, this one rose from the ground with the reflective shimmer of polished granite. "You hold these close to your heart, do you not? It is … unique … to see such faith in this day and age."

Jal'resh maintained a passive face. "Mere technology or the mastery of the stars does not alter what has been. I would that more paid heed to the Pillars, but that is not my place. We shall dine, and you shall tell me what purpose brings a Minister of the Third Reach to my halls."

The other man had the gall to grimace. "A guest would be given more courtesy, my Lord. Surely you recall Koan thirty-seven: Let not the stranger in your gates be compelled to ruin?"

That made him laugh. Inwardly; the Head of House Ba'Kal was renowned for _never_ showing signs of mirth. But still, it figured such a man would remember the rules on hospitality. "And so you are correct." He waited a beat, just as a smug look began to spread over the man's face. "However, I suspect you are no guest, but a client. And there are no less than fifty verses in the koan of the Second Pillar giving instruction on the very matter."

After that, the walk became even quieter than before, which suited him perfectly well.

-000-

Dining halls for guests held two purposes: first, to impress. Second, to insure there were enough angles to end a hostile threat's life before the second course had been served.

Jal'resh gave the table an appreciative once-over. The single best aspect of having a guest like Alain lay in the feast set out before him. Roast avian with glazed sweet-sauce lay at periodic intervals throughout the length of the table. Mountains of exotic fruits piled up to his shoulder when sitting, some grown from his own gardens, others purveyed from colonial holdings on other planets. And, best of all, the various wines he'd taken a personal interest in refining. Yet that all ignored the various breadstuffs concocted by his staff, and the salads positioned at tempting intervals. All at his beckon should he so desire – but best when savored at infrequent times. It made the event at least slightly more palatable, in more than one sense of the word.

That meant a table fifteen feet long appeared very small in such a large banquet hall, but underscored the importance of the room. Adding to the pleasure was a group of slaves, from lower levels of Hegemony society, filling the room with the quiet sound of professional-grade music.

"Now then," he lifted his glass for the slave to fill. The dark red liquid swirled in the blown glass container, a miniature storm of flavor contained by the unperceptive silicate. "You came here for a purpose. Whom is causing you distress?"

Alain, sated by a sumptuous dinner and holding a beverage that likely cost more than his skycar, gave an amiable grunt. "Grelan."

Nodding, Jal'resh raised his hand. Within seconds, a data-reader pressed its edges into his palm. For several minutes, he pressed its haptic interface, studying the contents as the search parameters shifted. "Operative Grelan, of the Exploration Division. Fifty-seven years old, unmarried, good prospects for advancement. And …" he deliberately lifted the upper-most pair of eyes to his guest, "attempting to woo the second youngest daughter of one _Pronar_ Alain."

The man's hand clenched around the wineglass stem. "Yes. He has recently come blinking around my daughter, since he is certainly worthy to lick the ground upon which she walks. Such a devoted man; I have seen the care and tenderness he has displayed to his concubines."

Mentally, Jal'resh calculated values. Honor demanded he keep the information confidential, but an equally important duty rendered him responsible for his holdings. Some slave masters were animals, better to be brought down in their own blood … but to do so would invite scrutiny of the highest order. Something he could not easily afford. The happy issue at hand however, kept him a disinterested outsider by all parties. Even those wishing him to not stay disinterested. "An uncouth man by all accounts," was all he said aloud. "Rest assured, your words shall never escape my house. Tell me: what do you wish?"

All four eyes focused on him, bottomless anger in their depths. "While I want many things, I am … concerned … for his life. His efforts are escalating, and Lita's twenty-first birthday is in two weeks."

"Ah." Discretion was of paramount importance. Assassins were a credit a dozen, particularly in the Terminus Systems where you could hire any _pilfa_ -dumb Void breather to pull a trigger. Keeping it within the family as it were, meant fewer repercussions, and an enhanced reputation should word actually escape confinement. "It would be … unfortunate … should an accident befall our mutual friend."

The other man froze, glass halfway up. It slowly descended. "Very unfortunate. Would insurance help ease your mind of his safety?"

Jal'resh let his teeth show. _Insurance_ was a code word for payment for safety, its originating conceptual phrase something universal to every sentient race. Well, perhaps the krogan were too primitive for insurance policies in the traditional sense – or too smart. He'd have to think on that later. "Greatly."

The glass finished its journey to the table, where it rested on a hand carved bas relief. Alain used two fingers to reach in his pocket, withdrawing a credit chit. "Name your price."

This time it was Jal'resh's turn to fall silent. Mentally, he continued the calculations, potential for failure, social standings, and above all, if it would negatively affect his own plans. Whose cooperation was worth more, the would-be client, or the target?

A few moments of thought were all he needed. "I can assure you of the policy being taken out within the week. How soon you wish for the insurance to be achieved will not affect the cost. But … I would assume the repercussions should be … minimal?"

The credit chit hit the table with a soft click. A hand, bearing a fresh glass of wine swept close, taking the old glass away, leaving a bare table top in its wake. Even Jal'resh hadn't seen the chip taken. _That was good._

"Much as I love him," the quivering twitch over Alain's leftmost eye betrayed his true emotions, "He is of age. Should it take time to make certain everything goes well, it is well. I dislike paperwork for its own sake."

Jal'resh tasted his wine once more. It grew better every year, aged to perfection in the cellars under his home. "You should try my other vintage, something my father experimented with in his spare time. He called it, _Rinia Vrullshëm._ " He set down the glass. " _Verë mjeshtër_!"

The wine master appeared at his elbow. "Master."

Jal'resh raised a hand, gesturing towards the doorway. "Bring a bottle of _Rinia_ _Vrullshëm_ , stasis container for my guest's departure."

The slave bowed. "Impetuous Youth? Of course, it shall be ready." He bowed again, leaving as quickly as he'd arrived.

Turning back, Jal'resh pondered the cost once more. "Such a policy should cost approximately 750,000 credits, a third refunded upon successful completion. Agreed?"

Alain swallowed, but nodded. "Indeed. You are widely known as the best insurance provider in the Hegemony. Well worth any price."

A smile played around his lips. "The drell are rumored to have better … salesmen. But I doubt even their people could perform even an audit of Grelan's holdings in the time frame you request. As to their superiority … hmmm … they do well for lacking two eyes."

Relief colored the other man's voice. "True. How they can maintain their balance with only two eyes," he shook his head, "I do not know."

A slave presented himself to Jal'resh bowing low. "Master, forgive me, but this was dropped by your guest." A credit chit appeared before Jal'resh's place, as if placed by magic.

"Excellent, thank you for finding it." He gave an exaggerated grin, simulating the attitude of an overly concerned host. "Well done my servant. Spend your evening where you wish, on my authority."

"Kind master," the slave bowed once, then vanished immediately.

Jal'resh pushed the credit across the table. "This is yours, I believe?"

"Hah, indeed." Alain did not insult by checking the device's balance in front of him. "You reward your slaves for returning guest's property?"

Rising to his feet, Jal'resh gave a nonchalant shrug. "It is my experience that rewards do a great deal to incentivize property to do what is in their best interest. _Koan_ thirty-three, First Pillar: _Bind not the muzzle of the lope that treads your grain._ " He motioned, "Your shuttle should be waiting in a few minutes. Would you have a moment to peruse my art collection?"

[break]

He watched the shuttle lift off soaring into the sullen-red sky. A similarly large weight lifted from his shoulders at the same time. That was close. Far too close.

"You did well," he spoke to midair. "Pass the word along. We're safe, no investigation."

A growl of assent echoed his words. "At your command. But you worry much, good master. Your life is worth far more than our own. We would die for you, and you know this. Why worry?"

Jal'resh turned to the turian that willingly knelt at his side. "Rise, my friend." The path back inside felt shorter somehow, less difficult. "You know the risks as well as I do. There are very few places in Hegemony space that permit such freedoms as you and the others enjoy. If an official were to find out, there would be no shortage of accusations, followed by search and seizure commands. Then, how would we be able to return your kind to the stars?"

The turian held a fist near his chest, bowing his head. "We would die first. You could claim it was a renegade, one that pretended to obey."

All four eye ridges rose. "House Ba'Kal, the premier assassin group in Hegemony space, duped by a mere two-eyed alien?" Chuckling, he patted the turian's shoulder. "Nay, it is better to not be caught, than to worry ceaselessly about might-have-been's. Plan for the worst, but hope for the best."

"Indeed master."

Jal'resh sighed, letting his wandering feet take him to the window. His properties, stretched far across the horizon, were dotted with laborers, each performing their task individually, as a team. A euphemism perhaps, for how he operated? A flash of light flickered from one of the workers' necks, sunlight dancing off the false implants that kept prying eyes at bay. Or was it more apt to say _he himself_ bore the collar, ending the lives of people that had done no wrong to his own household, simply to better his circumstances?

Nearer the foundations, two children ran, playing some form of game. The one in lead suddenly blurred away, exhibiting biotic control that would have made officials of the SIU green with envy – and result in strange noises at night and a missing child by dawn. But under his satellite-bafflers, feeding the watchful overhead observers falsified data that had been collected and manipulated over the centuries, they were safe. Secure. Happy.

That made it all worthwhile. As his father before him, and grandfather before that, however many generations the custom had developed, he would do what was best for his people.

Resolve hardened, Jal'resh pressed forwards, renewed strength in his stride. Some things were worth killing for.

* * *

 **A/N:** *settles back in his chair* Good evening. This, is an idea I have had for some time, inspired by a few kind reviewers that have acknowledged my fairly lackluster attempts at portraying the Batarians in Early Discovery. So, here is my response. Would you like to see more? Review, and let me know. Also, please let me know how you think the Pillars of Strength would be written; if I like your idea well enough, I'll include it and incorporate it, if possible.

Note: most of the terminology comes from my own codex entry found in 'An Abridged Examination of Inter-Galactic Civilizations"

Thanks as always, to Nightstride, whom's editing assistance makes this possible.

Cya down the lane!


	2. Betrayal

Jal'resh leaned on the door frame, looking out over his properties. Operations were succeeding far beyond expectation in almost every category. Food production levels were well above the official requirements, taxes were paid with the token resistance expected of every landlord, and material production had increased to what his ancestors could have only dreamed to achieve. In the last generation, profits had ballooned to the point where it had become necessary to conceal their burgeoning mass from hostile eyes.

He shifted uneasily. Even when the necessary steps had been taken, others … had taken notice. Questions were asked, answered, and in a few limited cases, eliminated. The entire problem of prosperity among a race eminently designed to spot discrepancies boiled down to a single issue.

Slavery.

The basic concept appeared simple enough on paper. One individual performed labor for another, without the option to abandon tasks half-finished or before the investment cost had been repaid.

In practice … things became far more difficult. While there were four major castes, in reflection of the Four Pillars, there were innumerable categories ranging between the different castes.

"Tell me," he spoke to the shadowed figure, hidden behind the wall. "My investigations show that the Alliance frowns on slavery; it's so obvious that an investigation really is just a formality. And yet, they create contracts designed to permit as little freedom as possible. I know slave owners that treat their slaves with higher regard. Explain the discrepancy."

The man rolled his shoulder. "Bit o' work to see the difference sometimes," he admitted. Solomon Trakes, mercenary and head of a small outfit, held a position as 'consultant' for House Ba'Kal. Most of the Houses retained the services of a few bands; the number of soldiers at the command of a House was one of the most common methods used to determine their importance. "But I think the major separation is how tha' majority sees it. See," he pushed away from the wall, the better to gesticulate. "Earth don't have slavery as a legal thing anymore. Used to, but the last big spots got rooted out near a century ago. Not sayin' it's all gone, just mostly. Ninety-nine percent, or more."

Jal'resh closed his eyes, inhaling the strong scent of fresh-cut grasses. "Yet many humans sell their own people to slavers. This I know."

"Yep," Solomon agreed readily. "Just like there are batarians that fight the system. Like you."

He winced. "I do not _fight the system_ , as you put it. I merely oppose the abuses taken by the system to date. If we could return it to what it once was …."

The human snorted. Rudely. "You can't live in the past. That's what I call wishful thinking. What's gone is gone, and you can't bring it back. What's going on now is what you have to work with."

"Truly," Jal'resh bared his teeth, exposing the double canines in a flesh-eating grin, "Should one of my neighbors hear you, your life would be forfeit."

Solomon shrugged. "Good job o' it you got me instead of them. Hate to destroy all them pretty little places on the way out."

Jal'resh nodded slowly. The mercenary spoke little of his past, but a House such as Ba'Kal knew whom to ask questions, and how to ask them. If taken by surprise, he was certain the man would fall, but as it stood … well, it bore useful planning for when trouble inevitably came.

"I had another offer today," he changed the subject, and his position. Watching over the property felt productive, but provided little actual interaction. "The Sarvans again."

The mercenary accompanied him, striding a half-pace behind and to the right. "Name sounds familiar. Can't say why."

Jal'resh waved a hand aimlessly. "They are the majority shareholders of a luxury skycar producer. Heimler, I believe. As I recall, there are ten percent shares they do not own." He owned that last ten percent, but it wasn't a fact he would share with anyone; trustworthy as they appeared. "This time they offered a significant deduction for transportation fees. An improvement from their last offer."

Solomon glanced down the hall, alert eyes glinting. "Before my time. What they offer then?"

"The opportunity to invest." Jal'resh rolled his upper set of eyes, ending the move with a flicking gesture that described his contempt. "All I had to do was trade a few dozen slaves trained in metal working and engineering."

"Not cheap." His mercenary agreed. "Bit surprised they didn't throw in a marriage contract too."

"Concubine offer, actually," Jal'resh glanced up, feeling a warning vibration on his personalized omni-tool. "We have a cloaker. Drone, likely. Would you mind …?"

The mercenary swung into action, not bothering to speak. The man jogged out of sight, headed for a stairwell, and vanished from sight. Seconds later, a Ba'Kal security officer thundered out a hall on an intercept course. "Sir, intrusion!"

"I know," Jal'resh started walking again. "Stealth, likely setting off the tachyon sensors. Location?"

The officer held up his own wrist, manipulating the implement until a luminescent grid expanded. "Three places, the Quarters, Armory and front stairs. They all started broadcasting roughly twenty seconds ago."

Jal'resh considered the timing. "Forward the locations to mercenary Solomon. Access code Jenwa-five-Kalen-two-Ophelia. Ask him if he would be so kind as to remove those threats."

The batarian tapped his two middle fingers against his right pauldron. "Your will, my hands."

Jal'resh nodded affirmation, and let the man proceed. On his own part, he made his way to the communication hub, deep in the heart of the Ba'Kal stronghold. Walls two meters thick protected the hub, designed to withstand nuclear fallout when that had been a danger. It was one of three similar positions in the stronghold, designed to be self-sustained in periods of siege. _Real_ siege, not the play-acting some of his contemporaries pretended to enact. One did not simply 'shut down' all avenues of attack; every structure had its weak point, whether it was food, power, or communications. Make every section independent, and the weaknesses became equally dispersed.

He entered the room, first deactivating his omni-tool and leaving it in a magnetically sealed container by the door. The Hub was a large place filed with enough sensitive hardware to purchase half of a cruiser – if sold as scrap. Fortunately, some of the best minds in the galaxy had been responsible for its development. One of whom was right now making excited noises at the text running across his screens. "Zen. Report."

A salarian, eccentric even for its species, blinked at him. "Fascinating code. Remarkable structure – formed around a base sixteen logarithmic structure. Colloquialism-filled jargon, triple redundancy security algorithms. Then …" he drew a breath, "it gets complicated."

"Did it get out?" Jal'resh glanced at the screens. He had a rudimentary understanding; but there was a reason he acquired the best.

The salarian made a complicated shoulder wriggle, terminating the move in a derisive sneer that would have made a member of House Balak envious. "Not even close. Coding above superlative. Broadcasting – negligible. Barely enough range to achieve low orbit. Simple to block."

Jal'resh closed his eyes in relief. "You are a miracle worker. Thank you."

"Known fact." Zen shot back. "Paid good money for contract. Ridiculous to assume failure."

He let the salarian's jab pass in good humor. "If your dalatress allowed it, I would have contracted your entire family. A pity she didn't see the sense in that."

Zen laughed, a wet rasping sound. "A fool to contract all to one man. Who would counter me, if not my brothers? Has to be me. Like eldest brother says: Someone else would have gotten it wrong."

"So you say," Jal'resh scanned a nearby screen. "So tell me, Programmer Solus, where are the … disturbances now?"

 _"Sir,"_ a gruff voice interrupted their talk. _"I have 'em on scope. Orders?"_

"Take them down," he ordered without hesitation.

The salarian tsked, clicking his tongue against the upper dentine layer. "Variables unpredictable. Cloaked. Mobile. Likely using cover, in middle of residential –"

A crack of an anti-material rifle boomed over the room's speakers. Fractions of a second later, a different microphone emplacement picked up the sound, rebroadcasting it in a feedback loop. Hastily, Zen slapped at a control, lowering the volume just as a second shot boomed out. Two seconds later, a third report echoed through the chamber, muted in quality yet malevolent still present in the aftershock.

Screens flipped, buzzing softly under haptic pressure. "Interference gone," Zen whispered. "All three. No signals … maintaining jamming protocols, require retrieval." He looked up at Jal'resh, "Apologies. Your soldier good shot. Almost salarian level precision."

Jal'resh squinted with his upper pair of eyes. "What would it have taken to reach salarian levels?"

Zen resumed his handiwork, brushing his implant-studded hands through the transparent screens. "Anti-Material rifle; Volkov model. Efficient. Noisy. Good for drone behind wall; not the other two. Silenced carbine better choice."

He watched the salarian move. "A point. I'll let him know."

"Please do." Zen sniffed. "Alternatives to explosions. Quieter. Less likely to warn mole."

The thought stopped Jal'resh just as he reached the exit. "Mole?"

"Mole. Yes, yes yes yes," Zen's screens widened, expanding to a view of the Ba'Kal properties on Kar'Shan. "Only explanation. Perimeter shield in place, static barriers active. Specific frequency output keyed to weakness in perimeter blockade, unlikely stumbled across. Not an accident. Need to see drones. Send to lab, please."

The fact, no. The _idea_ that someone in his lands – one of _his_ people – would dare to sell information to his enemies felt like a krogan had delivered a _Gliding Dive_ kick to his abdominals. He had … no, the _Ba'Kals_ had safeguarded their holdings for millennia, going back to before the first Relay was discovered. Before the Age of the Void had taken place. Not all had agreed with methods of rule; maintaining that ascension required discipline of mind fewer than ten percent of an entire population could endure. But such a thing hadn't occurred in over two generations.

 _A mole._ Growling to himself, Jal'resh left the room, eager to reclaim his omni-tool. He had a hunt to begin.

* * *

Two weeks. Two very long, tiring, nerve-wracking weeks.

But at least the target had been acquired.

Jal'resh covered his lower pair of eyes with one hand, leaning perhaps a trifle harder into the support than strictly necessary. He didn't care. It had been a nightmare, not knowing whom he could trust, who had been the traitor. Even when the possibilities had been narrowed down, the evilness of what he had to do still rankled. _Steady. Remember the Pillars. Stay strong; for many beneath you rest under your strength. Let the Pillars keep you standing. Even now … with this._

"You are certain?" Nervousness held no place in his mannerisms. It was trained out of every Heir before they achieved their first decade. No, what made his voice cringe was the fact that he could not delay any longer.

His chief of security, a batarian so old his skin had paled, grunted. "No mistake Milord. She sold you out. Wanted to make life better. Or something. Hard to tell with asari types."

Jal'resh refused to even look at the one-way window, where the gentle interrogation was taking place. Other Houses would have destroyed the asari's mind, using another slave to ravage minds like a bowl of _plomeek_. He'd even heard of Houses that employed _ardat yakshi_ for that very purpose – and to release on an enemy House as a last resort. Biological warfare, of a thinking weapon.

Oddly, that didn't terrify him nearly as much as the potential of the next few hours.

"Her husband?"

Rei'den let his upper lip curl, showing the sharpened canines. Humans lost their teeth as they grew old, and krogan acquired new sets as they aged. Batarian teeth on the other hand, continually grew throughout their lifetime, and his security chief was long in the tooth indeed. "He knew. He tried to talk her out of it, but he knew."

"Damn them to the Pits." Jal'resh stepped away from the window. "How many knew? The entire family? Children?"

A soft shrug was his answer.

"Tell me Rei'den, will I have to purge an entire family line because of the flaws of a weak husband?" Jal'resh finally glared at the window, at the batarians conducting the questioning. There was no blood, just information. Reams and reams of data files, money trails, security footage. So much that it overwhelmed the more intellectual prisoner. "Will I have to become a murderer, for her crime?"

This time, the elder batarian hesitated. "We can find no corroborating evidence," he finally said. "For, or against."

That was what he'd wanted to hear. "You'd still prefer to err on the side of caution."

"Of course." Aged shoulders hitched in an arthritic manner, yet nothing prevented the experience from being seen. "You do not hold merely the lives of a few chattel in your hand. This is the safety of all Ba'Kal. A House that could be turned to radioactive dust if the wrong person heard the wrong thing, at the wrong time. Just one error, Jal."

"I know!" he groaned. "But … children? It is against the Third Pillar, _koan_ seventy-five: _Suffer not the sins of the father on the third and fourth generation. Their sin will find them out, and Vengeance will be Mine. I will Repay._ "

"Saylah," Rei'den made the diamond shape, outlining himself. "You remember your lessons well, Jal. A pity you were not cut out for the priesthood."

"Hah." Jal'resh nearly spat, but remembered himself in time. "Outside these walls there are precious few worthy of the title. Self-important, aggrandizing social climbers that barely remember how to perform a proper _matins_ let alone Last Rites." His shoulders drooped. "But … how far must I go?"

The elder said nothing, letting Jal'resh draw his own conclusions. It was something he liked about the man; how his patience could outlast a mountain of action. At the moment however, that appreciation did not seem very … present.

"You speak truth." He sighed; weight settled on his shoulders, the massive feeling of yet more lives in his charge. "I will ponder your words."

"I will pray for wisdom as well." Rei'den tilted his head to one side in respect. Of anyone, he knew the price being paid. "Blood is the only path to redemption, but it need not always be the blood of the innocent."

* * *

To the untrained eye, reports lay on the small desk, positions scattered from thoughtless motion. The darkened room, easily penetrated by his four eyes, remained a calculated dim, darker than most two-eyed sentients could perceive. The end result combined the darkened room with the tablet's soft illumination, making Jal'resh the highlight of the room. Of course, the side benefit made every shadowed presence to the side more intimidating, hidden dangers unheeded by the careless.

Such was the view afforded to the asari prisoner, as a guard brought her in. She did not struggle; it was pointless to do so. Biotic-inhibitors prevented the gift of her race from being used – there had been quite enough security failings.

The guard brought her forwards, then forced her to her knees before his desk. She complied, but twitched in fear as Jal'resh folded his hands.

"Anyetta. That is your name, is it not?" He asked.

The asari nodded, "Yessir. Anyetta Kielan."

Jal'resh watched her for a long minute, cataloguing every twitch she made. "Guard, give her a chair. We may be constrained by circumstances, but that does not mean we must be uncivilized."

A sound of sliding wood scraped across the floor, before Anyetta was jerked upright and set down. Her confused expression slid to Jal'resh to the surrounding darkness, futilely attempting to pierce the shade of night.

"Anyetta, do you know what you sit upon?" Jal'resh kept his hands folded, below the point of his jaw.

The asari glanced downward, before venturing a timid answer. "A chair?"

He sighed. "Technically, yes. It is a chair. More than that, it is a wooden chair. A luxury afforded only to those willing to pay for it. Beyond that, the object on which you sit is an ancient heirloom, made of _vështirë_ wood. My great-grandfather made it with his own hands; cut the boards, planed the sides, and sanded it. The varnish he used was a concoction of his own imagination, and is still used by furniture makers to this day. It is a work of art, a masterpiece worth more than ten thousand credits to the right collector. And yet, you called it a chair."

Anyetta whimpered. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. It's a wonderful chair, beautiful –"

"Stop," Jal'resh dropped his hands to the desk. "I am not telling you this to taunt you, but to illustrate a point. You knew the basic situation around you; it was a chair, and you were made to sit on it. But if you had my knowledge, you would have known that I sought to honor you by giving you such a seat."

Surprise spread over her face, possibly allowed there because she believed the darkness covered expressions. Then again the asari as a race were highly emotional, even moreso than the mercurial humans. "M … my lord?"

"What you did took courage, intelligence and desperation, Anyetta Kielan. If you had not done it to me, it would have likely called for your immediate execution, and the death of everyone connected to you – if I were such a barbarian."

She caught the subtle phrasing. "You … are not going to kill me?"

"No." He picked up one of the tablets. "I will instead curse you with knowledge. Tell me Anyetta, have I not treated you well? Have I given you and your family any reason for complaint?"

Anyetta straightened. "No milord, you have treated us well and fairly."

The tablet clicked as he put it down again. There was a burning question in his mind; curses could wait. "Then why Anyetta? Why did you do that? The interrogators can tell me how and when, even where, but not the most crucial point. _Why_?"

A soft voice murmured, too quiet for him to hear. "I am no human, Anyetta. My ears cannot capture rumor as swiftly as they. Once more please?"

Dark eyes glinted at him in the blackness. "I am still a slave."

"Is that so terrible?" He gestured over the tablets, sweeping his hand at the grounds above. "You have all the food you need, clothes, entertainments, marriage, children when you believe yourself ready. Other masters would treat you as an animal, brand you with their own ludicrous marks of arrogance. Among all the other slavers, I could certainly understand your actions, but with me you are treated almost as well as a freeborn. What possible justification can you have for endangering the lives of every other slave?"

Her chin came up. "The difference between slave in name, and free in deed, are the difference between infinity and zero milord. One far above our reach, the other below. While the distance between the two can be as close to nothing as is possible in this life, there is still a difference. A slave is a slave, no matter how kind the master."

 _Eloquent_ , Jal'resh noted. _Knowledgeable in mathematics. A waste in the estate planning tasks she had been assigned. Partially my fault, I should have checked._

"Are you aware of what you have risked though?" he asked aloud. "What price you almost forced my people to pay for your beliefs of liberty and the pursuit of what pleases you?"

Her posture did not waver. "My husband begged me to not do this. He is blameless. All that I have done, I did of my own free will. No one else should pay for what I've done."

Jal'resh sighed, knuckling his lower pair of eyes. "You are young, even though you are a good five decades older than I. Now: for the curse." He flipped the tablets around, letting them project above the desk in three-dimensional form. Their orange lighting made his skin reflect a dark maroon, something amusing in any other situation. "This is a list of the people in my charge. House Ba'Kal is an ancient House, old even by the reckoning of the Thirty families dominating asari politics. Our wealth is not in mere credits – we invested our efforts in practical applications. Land. Wine. Furniture. In the process, we acquired many, many slaves. Who cares if the salarian is near the peak of his life?" A humorless chuckle erupted before he could stop it. "That only makes his value greater. Enough for an artisan dining room set, carved to represent the strength of that House group. But that is not all my House has done."

Numbers changed, floating in new positions. "We have eliminated problems for the Hegemony. Politicians. Rulers. Pirates that no longer obey orders. A practice that has gone back so far in Hegemony history that the very name _Ba'Kal_ can be found as the root of many terrors in the colonies. But that is not our greatest asset, nor our greatest secret."

Anyetta's face, pale in the lighting twisted into a frown. "That … that looks like a … freighter."

"It is. The _Liria e Fshehur_. I am rather proud of it; it's a rather obscure reference to the classical works by Al'Je, the writer. His poem, _Fshehur ke Liria_ speaks of the Long Patrol, that last voyage taken by the dead. It is, in short, a funeral barge."

Her breath sounded loud in the silent room. "You said you wouldn't kill me!"

"So I did. Never doubt my word." His voice grew soft once again. "But I have many slaves that die in my hands. So many that my name has become … harsh … among other Houses. While I am feared for my skills, I am respected for never running out of labor. It is a sign of power … killing so many, yet maintaining the output. I am a true slave driver, held up as an example for the thousands of little children to emulate. Is that not ironic?"

He could see her brow-ridge furrow in thought. "But … milord … I have not seen so many die. Transfer, yes, but not die."

Jal'resh waited. The woman was intelligent, she could work it out.

"The … the list of people you own … so many. But the ship carries hundreds away every time it stops. How could – unless," realization flashed. "They aren't dead? You send them away alive?"

He silently applauded her intellect. "I am the only House Lord I know, that allows his slaves to flee, to their own people or wherever they wish to go. It is a delicate task; too many, and my countrymen would suspect. Too few, and it would be pointless. I, and my father, and his father before him back as far as our genealogy has gone, have kept this practice ever since we became a House. Our people are merely in our care for a time. They are not ours, we did not birth them, create them. Yet, they are under our protection for as long as necessary."

The image changed, showing another batarian. In his own way, he was handsome, in a cruel sense. The teeth protruding from his jaw were artificially sharpened, plated in an alloy that gleamed with a silver sheen. "The information you tried to get out would have gone to this man. Kranine Dhap'Khalak. He has been blinking around my holdings for two decades now, seeking any reason whatsoever to get his hands on it."

Shifting, the batarian's visage was replaced by a list of numbers. "And this," he said more quietly, "Is a list of slaves that come out of his properties crippled, maimed, or dead."

Anyetta's horror shown in her face. "But … but he promised! He said I would go free!"

"And it is likely he would have kept his word," Jal'resh acknowledged. "Just not your husband. Or your friends. Or anyone in which you might have a passing interest. Of course, he likely would have agreed to free some of your closest friends. Provided you stayed yourself. But, that is of little interest since it did not happen. How it _would_ have happened is of greater interest to me. Do you know what he would have done, had he received the information you provided?"

Mutely, she shook her head.

"I thought not. You see, I follow the Pillars. They have kept my family strong, and the weak from my halls. Should the news of how I treated my … slaves … been released, Kranine would have made a public spectacle. How depraved I was, and what tortuous things I must do to make unthinking brutes like yourself actually believe themselves equal. Others would not believe this of course, but to steal a piece of my wealth, they would pretend to agree. I would fight back of course, key assassinations here and there, but that would increase my threat level so that higher authority would need to be brought in."

Jal'resh waved a hand, changing the image to another scene. This one showed a series of faces, all wearing white cowls and solemn expressions. "By publicly acknowledging my faith, the source of my depravity would be assumed. The Speakers would come together to declare my House _persona non grata_ , removing any political protection. After that, any means necessary to secure my property would be legal. Mercenaries, armies, political backstabbing; anything. In the end, after all my other holdings had fallen, they would attempt to seize the ancestral home. _This_ home."

One small finger twitch, and the tablets simultaneously projected a single image. A cloud of dust and debris, under-lit with hellfire, billowing upwards.

He focused all four eyes into the asari's single pair. "They would not succeed. Even if it cost me everything I own. I would not consign even one life in my charge to anyone else … and it is my right to make the final decision. Now." He leaned backwards, still watching her intently. "Do you understand what you almost did?"

Anyetta's eyes twitched, flickering back between his face and the mushroom cloud, still billowing in silence above his table. Suddenly, she jerked forwards, falling on her face. "Forgive me! I did not know, please, do not hold this against Tam! He suspected, but he never knew. Please don't tell him, I beg you!"

 _Thank the Pillars, the right answer._ Jal'resh said nothing, letting her continue. The melodramatic presentation grated, but there were more things at stake than his own peace of mind.

At last, he held up one hand. "Enough. You have made your position clear. You did not understand the ramifications … although using the common sense of perhaps a _pulë_ would have helped. Hear now my judgement."

The asari fell silent, not moving.

"The judgement of Oath Breakers is one of our oldest laws, and there can be only one decision: Anyetta Kielan, for your betrayal of your acknowledged Lord, you and your husband shall be executed."

Jal'resh waited until Anyetta looked up, betrayal filling her features. "Your bodies will be disposed of by the _Liria e Fshehur_ , in the tradition of House Ba'Kal. Your names will never be spoken in public, nor acknowledged by any of Hegemony blood. So let it be written, so let it be done."

A look of wonder filled her eyes. "Master, you are … setting us free?" Horror quickly replaced her wonder. "I mean, thank you master, but … do you really mean …?"

He studied her face, before quoting a line.

 _"The farther shore I will never see,_

 _Blood kin shall e'er beyond me._

 _'Til I see that sight, and know no more._

 _The last patrol, the Distant Shore."_

Slowly, her head bowed in comprehension. "I … accept your judgement, Master."

A final gesture and the lights came up. Anyetta's expression became confused as she noticed massive barrels surrounding their position. Guards, hidden by the darkness and the barrels, stood up, giving her a look of approval, before leaving. "Where … the dungeon?"

Jal'resh raised an eye ridge at her. "This once used to be a dungeon, perhaps two centuries ago. It makes a far better wine cellar, don't you agree?"

* * *

"So."

Jal'resh ignored the impatient sound. His reading material was far more interesting.

"A happy ending. Delightful children, perhaps one named after you? You must be _so_ _proud_." Rei'den stomped in front of the chair, flailing an arm at the cemetery, far beyond.

The page turned. Actual texts, whether made from the fibrous material derived on what seemed every world or the synthesized materials, were a guilty pleasure. The amount of time available for such inclinations fell between little and none, to the House Lord. This one, a treatise on the rise of the Imperium, was not rare. Yet the information within its covers held implications far beyond mere political structures; it offered insight to the Turian mind. Useful, possibly.

"Your father sacrificed more than you will ever know, just to keep the existence of House Ba'Kal safe."

His brow furrowed over a particularly difficult passage. Learning how to understand the turian mindset required a flexible mind; ironic, considering the lack of such elasticity in the subject matter. Then again, there were striking similarities between the turian and batarian views. Inflexible attitudes, a military service requirement. What would have happened had the asari met the batarians before the turians? Whom would have been the dominant species?

"Now you spit on his example by letting that asari go free. Free! She is a security lapse just waiting to happen. Your grandfather could have made such a judgement call; and your father might have been capable before his death, but you? You are far too young to allow emotion to decide for you. The Pillars required payment be made, and in blood."

Jal'resh turned back several pages, comparing the phrasing. Had there been two authors? Or did it simply mean multiple translators did not agree on a term's meaning? Whatever the cause, it meant a world of difference. To 'enlighten' someone could not be both _teach_ and _chastise_ … unless the turian vocabulary was as brutal as its activities?

"Are you even listening to me? How dare you ignore me!"

He chose a page, studying the passage for alternatives. "Ignore? Never. Choose to wait while your temper tantrum runs its course? Certainly."

Rei'den's face darkened. "You call my concerns a mere display of emotion? _How dare you!_ "

"I am young. I dare much." Jal'resh carefully marked his place. It seemed he would not be finishing the chapter after all. "But more importantly, I dare because I am correct. Sending Anyetta and her consort away was the best possible option. You should know; you gave me the answer yourself."

The older man jerked as if slapped. "Idea? What idea?"

"Blood pays for all," Jal'resh steepled his fingers, looking over their points at his security chief. "Innocent blood should not pay for the sins of the guilty. Yet all too often, that is what must be done."

"Lad," the older man's eyes closed, shoulders slumping. "The world is harsh. Only the krogan know that truth as well as we."

"On that we agree. All suffer, the just and the unjust. As it is written: _the winds blow chaff beyond those who harvest and those who plant._ "

The elder's voice rose, almost plaintively. "They why did you let them go? A reward for treachery? That is how it will look to the others."

"Sent away from all they know? Flung to the outer reaches of known space, where survival is uncertain, before returning to kin that abandoned them long ago?" Jal'resh shook his head. "No Rei'den. We have a different interpretation of what others will think. But more than that, it was not her fault ultimately. She pursued her freedom. I cannot fault her for that. The one to blame, at the furthest extent, was myself."

His response shocked the security officer into silence.

"Had I realized her intellect earlier, I would have accounted for that. I failed." He spread his hands, trying to explain. "I should have seen the warning signs. I read the reports, saw the results. I noticed the missing security key, correlated Anyetta's presence. I failed to remember she had been captured less than two years ago, I should have realized her youth would have colored her patience. I also assumed she knew what was occurring, that she would be free inside a decade. The fault is mine."

Rei'den still scowled. "That is a good attitude for someone in a lower position. The fallout of her inevitable betrayal will bring ruin on your entire House. A lesser man would lose much less; you still do not understand what you are, how –"

His fist crashed down on the chair's arm, making Rei'den jump. "I know perfectly well what I am. That makes it so much more important that I do this; do what's right. Corruption may not start at the top, but it does the most damage there."

Finally, his security chief bowed his head. "Very well, Milord. I will trust your judgement." A dry chuckle lightened his face. "Perhaps the legends are true; all of the blood in House Ba'Kal are touched by insanity."

Jal'resh laughed. "Perhaps my old friend. Perhaps."


End file.
